The Takers
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Tony is the target of a foreign government and it's what they want that could cost him his life.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Takers  
>Author: Jasmine<br>Date: 11/10/10  
>Universe: NCIS (6626 words)<br>Season: 3-4  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Summary: Tony is the target of a foreign government and it's what they want that could cost him his life.

Chapter 1

The bullpen was dark, save for a few lamps illuminating the desktops. Director Jenny Shepard leaned on the railing overlooking the cubicles. In relative obscurity, she was allowed to observe one of her teams; the one that had a knack for resurrecting latent feelings. Watching them work was relaxing, for each had a purpose and each worked with intent. The only problem was it was late and they shouldn't have been hovered over their desktops pushing papers around. They should have been home enjoying a late dinner, a date, a book, a movie, or just about anything except what they were doing. Sometimes when she looked down at them, her maternal instincts kicked in, and she wondered if her daughter, had she had one, would be like Ziva? She looked from DiNozzo to McGee and wondered if her son would be like either of them? And then there was Jethro. She almost snorted thinking about him, knowing what she knew.

But it was well after seven o'clock and it was time to go home. The nonsensical talking had ceased, even Tony was quiet. She heard the ding of the elevator and was instantly reminded of why she was still at the office. The burden of the next couple of hours slumped her shoulders, but, fortunately, she was pleasantly relieved when the visitors weren't whom she was expecting but rather two of the other members of the Team. She listened in on the conversation.

"Gibbs!" Abby stated, "I ran that fiber you wanted me to run and thought you might like to know what I found."

Before an answer could be formed, Dr. Mallard followed her sentence with, "And I have an extra ticket to the Bolshoi Ballet performing at the Kennedy Center tonight and I'm wondering if any of you might be interested?"

Ziva looked up and inquired, "Good seats?"

"Always. "

She smiled and ticked her head slightly, "I have always wanted to go to the Kennedy Center."

"Splendid! I can follow you to your place and we can drive over together."

Noticing Gibbs staring at her, Abby responded, "Oh, right. Well, I ran it through IMBS, TMBS, and CMBS databases and it matches—"

"—Croghan's suit."

"Yes!"

Jenny smiled at the exchange. The case had been wrapped up three hours earlier but it never ceased to amaze her how one conclusion could be discovered three different ways.

"How'd you know?" Abby asked, feigning disappointment.

Gibbs lulled his head, not bothering to answer the question, and returned to his keyboard. Shepard knew that he was intent on completing the paper work, dotting all the i's and crossing the t's. He never cut corners and he never allowed his people to either. But she could tell they were particularly spent, especially DiNozzo. He had somehow managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time not just once, but twice, resulting in a mild concussion from being clocked over the head by a desk phone, and cuts and bruises from almost being mowed down by Croghan's armored-plated Escalade. Maybe that explained why he was uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

Tuning out the conversation below, her mind drifted to the agency's latest dilemma, which managed to fall squarely into her lap and which happened to be the reason for her still being here. A small entourage of Chinese military physicians was coming to the facility. They'd been in the country for five days and were managing to cause quite a stir with their disappearing acts and strange questions. As it happened, their travels brought them to DC where they specifically requested a tour of the Navy Yard. Of all the places to visit, she wondered why here, but SECNAV made it clear that they were to be afforded all the courtesies of visiting dignitaries, which is why instead of being home sipping on thirty year old Bourbon, she was leaning on the railing eavesdropping.

Dr. Mallard turned his attention to Tony, furrowing his brow. "Why are you still here? You should have left hours ago and you should be home and in bed resting."

Tony pecked away at his keyboard and shrugged, "I'm fine…, just a little headache."

"Well, if it gets worse, you make a trip to your doctor."

Tony looked up, still sporting a blood stained gauze bandage around his head. "That's why I got you, Ducky, so I don't have to pay those quacks money just to hear them tell me to take it easy. You can do that for free."

McGee interjected, "Tony's a little upset over the additional paperwork he has to fill out because Croghan decided to test the hood of his car against the density of Tony's head."

Ziva joked, "I think it was a valid test. We learned that Tony's head is as hard as ever, plus we now know that his reaction time is equally as good."

Flexing his sore shoulders, Tony mumbled, "Evidently, not _that_ good."

"All the same," Ducky said, "you shouldn't fool around with a head wound." He was suddenly distracted by the noise at the elevator. "Ah, looks like my colleagues from across the world have arrived."

Jenny furrowed her brow, wondering how he knew about their visit; it was Top Secret, and only those with a need-to-know status knew, or so she thought. She descended the stairs and walked towards the Chinese men as they padded softly her way. They were following a young Asian man who identified himself as their guide and interpreter.

"Director Shepard," the guide began in perfect English, "I'd like to introduce you to the People's Republic of China's medical exchange doctors." The four men bowed courteously.

Jenny greeted them warmly, "Welcome. We are very pleased to have you visit our facility. I'm not sure if we can offer the kind of tour that you're accustomed to, but we do have an excellent autopsy lab and a state-of-the-art forensics lab that are worth seeing."

The guide translated, and the men bowed again and whispered amongst themselves.

She politely waited for them to finish talking before motioning with her hands towards the elevator. "If you'll follow me," she said, but she suddenly felt the strange sensation that something wasn't quite right, and she found herself again waiting politely for their conversation to conclude.

"Excuse me, Director," the translator said, "but the doctors would like to be introduced to these people."

Jenny exchanged a glance with Gibbs, knowing this would only serve to annoy him, before nodding, "Of course. Where are my manners? This is Dr. Mallard, our Medical Examiner." She paused a moment while the guide translated and bows were initiated. "This is Ms. Sciuto, our forensic scientist," pausing again for translation, "… and this is Ms. Ziva David, Mossad liaison to NCIS." The Chinese doctors bowed after each introduction and moved further into the room. "This gentleman is Special Agent Gibbs, he's the team leader." Jethro nodded to their bow. Jenny turned and continued, "This is Special Agent Tim McGee, one of our field agents and seated beside you is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, senior field agent." Both McGee and DiNozzo mumbled salutations.

Jenny took a deep breath, wondering if they could see through her façade and know that she would rather be anywhere but here giving a tour to this group of men. Clasping her hands together, she plastered on her most pleasant smile and said, "Gentlemen… shall we being? I think you might like to start down in autopsy."

Dr. Mallard recognized an opportunity to exchange some interesting conversation and said, "Yes! I'd like to show you our facility and ask you some questions about how things are done in your country." Turning to Ziva, he pointed out, "This will only take a moment, my dear. We'll still have plenty of time before the show begins."

Ziva knew how excited he was to be sharing his area of expertise with fellow doctors and didn't begrudge him that for one moment. Smiling, she replied, "Not a problem; I will be waiting whenever you are ready."

But the Chinese men didn't appear interested. They had begun mumbling to each other and looking at Tony.

Jenny leaned forward, "Ahhh, excuse me, gentlemen. If you would follow Dr. Mallard…"

The guide translated, but the four men seemed uninterested and ignored him, choosing instead to speak quietly among themselves. Eventually, it became silent and when Tony looked up, he was met with four sets of eyes studying him. "This is interesting," he drawled. Only his eyes moved from man to man. "Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?"

The guide translated, but the men didn't respond. Tony's gut churned minutely at the impasse. It was impossible to ignore the four Asian men lined up in front of his desk staring at him, and impossible to complete his paperwork under such scrutiny, although it was a toss-up as to the actual reason: the scrutiny or the throbbing headache.

McGee offered, "Maybe they're wondering why you're wearing a bloody bandage around your head?"

Pointing to the white gauze, Tony said, "I sort of bounced off a car this afternoon. Nothing to worry about, the car's fine, and so am I."

The young man translated and Tony expected some sort of acknowledgement, but the four men just continued to stare.

Ziva offered another explanation, "You are a big guy, Tony. Maybe they are not accustomed to seeing such a man."

"I'm sitting down, Ziva, how can they tell?" he replied through gritted teeth.

Director Shepard masked her annoyance through a somewhat condescending tone and said, "Gentlemen, my people are working on closing a case and they're trying to finish up so they can go home. It's been a long day for them, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you follow Dr. Mallard and me and we'll take you down to autopsy."

The guide translated, but the men ignored him, yet again. Instead, they whispered to each other and appeared to be nodding in some sort of agreement.

Their movements were swift and imperceptible until Tony suddenly found himself staring down the barrels of four separately held handguns. "Ahhh, fellows," he nervously said, "I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm sorry, whatever it was." He was so focused on the guns, he didn't notice his co-workers.

In perfect English, the man standing directly in front of Tony and who had the best between-the-eyes shot of his head, stated, "Agent Gibbs, unless you want us to pump Special Agent DiNozzo full of bullets, you will put your gun down and order Officer David and Agent McGee to do the same."

Jenny, Ducky, and Abby looked from the Asians to their colleagues, who had their weapons aimed at three of the men, but that left one to unleash a hail of gunfire into Tony.

Again, in perfect English, the man stated, "You might kill me and two other men, but you will not get us all before your agent is dead. Is that a risk you want to take?"

Confused, the translator nervously began speaking in Chinese, waving his arms about genuinely trying to understand what was happening. In the universal language of body-speak, it was evident that he had passed the stage of stunned disbelief and moved right into a full blown panic attack. Unfortunately for him, the Asian man who spoke perfect English turned and shot him squarely between the eyes.

End of chapter 1

**Any reviews or words of encouragement are greatly appreciated. It helps me stay motivated to keep writing. I'm almost finished with the next chapter and hope to post this weekend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the words of encouragement. With the weather coming, I'm going to be tied up this weekend so I finished the chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 2

Tony hadn't moved since the guns had been drawn. He had been ordered not to, and that's what he did. Sitting behind his desk with his hands resting lightly on his keyboard, he watched helplessly as his teammates were rounded up. There was only one gun left aimed at him, but it was by the one man with the steadiest hand and a seemingly unwavering commitment to his cause, not to mention he was the one who had gotten in the practice round already this evening. The other three took orders from him: carrying the dead translator around the corner and out of site, rounding up the team into a small huddle, and finally searching the area for weapons. All the while, the leader held his gun steady on Tony.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't point that thing straight at me," Tony said. "I've already got one hell of a headache from playing bumper cars this afternoon, only I didn't have a car."

For his efforts, the Asian man cocked his gun.

"Nevermind," Tony got the message. "Just be careful with that thing."

Across the way, Tony watched as the men confiscated everyone's handcuffs and proceeded to shackle his teammates together in a macabre of limbs only the Chinese could figure out. Each person was cuffed to two different people forming a quasi ball which made it impossible for one person to do much of anything.

"Who are you, and what do you want with my agent?" Gibbs asked as he was being cuffed to both Abby and McGee.

Without so much as a waiver, the man aiming his gun at Tony answered, "My name is Agent Hong-Si Chen and I am with the People's Liberation Army Special Operations Forces."

"Why is the Chinese government sending special agents to NCIS?"

"Because that is where he is," he said, ticking his head at Tony.

"What do you want with my agent?"

"He has something we need."

"Who's _we_?"

"The People's Republic of China."

Tony shook his head trying to make sense of it, "_I_ have something the Chinese government needs? You mean to tell me that you can't get whatever it is from one of the BILLIONS of people walking around China?"

Chen looked down at his victim and replied, "You are unique." Then he turned to his colleagues and spoke in Chinese. One of the men left, while the other two immediately opened their briefcases and lifted out a fake bottom.

Ducky leaned across Director Shepard and whispered to Jethro, "Those are medical supplies they're pulling out."

"Listen," Tony argued, "I don't know what the hell I did to you, or to the people of China, but you obviously have the wrong man. I mean, I've never even been to China… hell, I've never even been to China Town! I really think—" watching Chen lower his gun to get a better head shot silenced the sometimes difficult-to-shut-up man.

"Stop talking," Chen ordered. Then, without being told, one of the other men took out his gun and aimed it at Ziva.

"Okay, okay!" Tony acquiesced. "I just thought you might want to know that this is, in no way, a reasonable method to develop relations with this country."

"Take off your shirt," Chen ordered.

Taken off guard by the absurd request, Tony said, "What?"

"Take off your shirt or I will shoot you and take it off for you."

Tony rubbed his hands over his face and mumbled, "Am I in some perverse nightmare?"

"I assure you, Special Agent DiNozzo, this is not a nightmare. It is very real. We have places to be and a schedule to keep, so we either do this with you alive, or we do it with you dead. Your choice."

"Do what!"

"I do not want to have to ask again," Chen replied calmly.

Ziva noted the nervousness of the man aiming his gun at her and hissed, "Tony, just do what they ask."

Not bothering to mask his anger, Tony stood up abruptly, sending his chair backwards against the credenza. His size alone intimated the diminutive Asians and they backed away; everyone except Chen, who didn't seem fazed. Tony deliberately removed his jacket. He jerked his tie loose and removed that. Then he methodically unbuttoned his cuffs, pulled his shirt tail out of his pants, and began unbuttoning it. While he was doing all this, he assessed the situation. One dead translator, four men getting ready to perform some sort of medical procedure on him, and his co-workers in no position to help. He caught Gibbs' eye, but instead of reassurance, he thought he heard his boss say, "You're on your own, Dinozzo."

Tony had not yet completely unbuttoned his shirt when the elevator door opened and a table from autopsy was rolled into the small area. "After your shirt is off, I need for you to lie down," Chen said, motioning with his gun towards the gurney.

Tony turned on his captor and angrily toned, "If you think I'm going to willingly get up on that table while you do God-knows-what to me, you've got another thing coming!"

Chen narrowed his eyes and expectantly glared at one of his men, who quickly produced a syringe and a vial and proceeded to fill the syringe with fluid. Thumping the air bubbles out, he approached Tony.

"What the hell! What is that?"

"Just something to relax you. We are intent on getting what we came for and we don't have the luxury of time to discuss everything we do. Take off your shirt and lie down on the table… NOW!"

After a second glance at the syringe, Tony snapped off his shirt and hoisted himself up on the cold steel slab. Thankful that he was wearing an undershirt, he laid back, "I'd really like to know what you want."

Ducky answered his question, "They want your blood."

Tony sat back on his elbows and looked incredulously at Chen, "Is that true? Is all you want is my blood?" His voice held a hint of relief.

Chen nodded once.

"Well, hell," Tony laughed, "if that's all you want, you can have it! You didn't have to take over like some Chinese Tong gone mad. You coulda just asked!" The man who had come towards Tony with the syringe had snapped on latex gloves and was now probing Tony's arm for a vein. He decided to use his left arm and said something to one of the other men, who used a pair of handcuffs to tether Tony's ankles together and another pair to fasten his right arm to the side of the gurney. "Taking no chances, are you?" Tony quipped at his captors. "But, really, guys, is this all necessary? You can probably put away the guns now that I'm shackled to this table. How 'bout it, fellows?"

Abby mouthed to McGee, "Do something!"

"Like what?" he whispered back.

Gibbs quietly toned, "Untangle us."

Tony continued talking, "You're gonna let everyone go after you get this blood, aren't you?" Then a thought occurred to him and he asked, "Why _my_ blood? You have all those people in China and you come all the way around the world to specifically get—" Tony suddenly realized what he had that very few living people in the world had. "You want my blood because I've had the plague."

Chen acknowledged the truthfulness of the statement with another single nod.

Gibbs asked, "What are you planning on doing with it?"

After a period of consideration, Chen answered, "There are many people in our country, more than in most of Western Europe and the Middle East combined. If a plague were to occur, it could kill millions of people."

"So you need Tony's blood to come up with an antidote?" Abby said, but something didn't ring true. She furrowed her brow and said, "Wait—the strand he was infected with was resistant to antibiotics." She said this as she watched the man tie off Tony's bicep and swab down his arm with antiseptic.

"I don't think that's the reason they want it," Gibbs said, remembering a file he'd read on a secret Chinese group known as The Takers.

Chen didn't immediately respond. With detachment, he watched as his colleague plunged the needle into his captive's vein and began the process of extracting the bright red fluid.

"Why else would they want it?" Abby asked.

Chen lifted just his eyes to look at the gothic forensic scientist. "Your boss is right. We are not interested in creating an antidote."

Truly vexed by the conversation, she asked again, "Then why do you want it?"

Gibbs answered for him, "Because they _want_ to infect their people."

Chen smiled, amused at the disgust in Gibbs' voice while at the same time impressed with his deductive skills. "You are quite correct, Special Agent Gibbs."

"That's ridiculous," Abby pointed out. "You'll end up killing half your population!"

"Not quite half; only about forty percent of those exposed," Chen clarified matter-of-factly.

Ducky watched the blood as it filled up the vile, slow and deliberate. They switched to another vial, and he watched that one fill up.

Tony stared at the ceiling, remembering what it was like to have the plague, remembering the many times he had wanted to give up because the pain in his chest was too intense and the effort to breath too great. Every second seemed like eternity, and he had to fight for every breath. There was never a moment when he didn't feel like it was going to be his last, and to this day, he'll occasionally have nightmares about it. "Are you nuts, Chen? It's a horrible disease, and a terrible way to die."

"I agree, it is horrible, but more importantly, it can be controlled."

"Huh?" Tony was not following his logic, so Gibbs cleared it up, "What he means is no one could ever trace it back to the Chinese government."

Chen offered an appreciative smile.

Tony waited until another vial was attached and the blood began to flow freely before speaking. Fighting through the nausea, he said, "Just so I understand, you _want_ your people to get the plague and die? Why?"

Chen tilted his head to get a better look at the prone man, "Because we want to improve our race. Look at you. You should have died from that sickness, but you did not. And you did not because you are a superior human specimen. You're tall, strong, and intelligent. Everything about you makes you better than the average person." He ticked his head towards the ball of people and stated, "I doubt any one of them would have survived."

"That's ridiculous," Tony slurred, feeling the effects of blood loss.

"Maybe, but it is what my government wants. If we can release the pestilence in populated areas, which can be isolated from the rest of the country, we will be able to rid our society of—how shall I put this—citizens who are less than desirable, like the elderly, the sick, the weak. What will be left are the strongest of our kind. They will be the ones who survive. And since we know this particular strand has a suicide chain built in, we don't have to worry about finding an antidote; we just have to wait it out."

Tony tried lifting his head. The good news is it no longer throbbed; the bad news is it felt like it weighed 300 pounds. Even his eyelids felt like led. He mumbled something slightly less than coherent.

Ducky witnessed another vial of blood being attached and furrowed his brow. "How much are you going to take?"

Chen shrugged, "We need a lot."

"You can't take that much," Ducky insisted. "There is a limit to the amount one can give in one sitting."

"We'll take as much as we want, Dr. Mallard."

McGee was closest to the vials of blood that were being neatly inserted into a foam cushion that was inside a padded medical lock box. Even to his non-medical brain, he knew that was too much blood to have come from one person. Gibbs studied his senior field agent lying on the table; his color was being slowly drained from his body.

"Tony?" Ducky said, "Tony?"

Tony opened his eyes, but couldn't keep them open. They slowly closed, then opened again, and then closed. It was obvious he was fighting consciousness.

"Tony?" Ziva asserted. When the response was non-existent, Dr. Mallard stated, "You're going to kill him if you don't stop!"

Chen replied, "He is strong, he will survive."

Ziva demanded, "What's the point of killing him!"

Gibbs added, "If he dies, and you need any more of his blood to perfect your little biological warfare program, you won't have it."

Ducky addressed the other doctor, appealing to his sense of decency and praying he had one, "As a medical doctor, you should be concerned with saving your patient! You can't kill him in cold blood!"

Chen looked bored, but eventually voiced yet another nonverbal command to his underling who pulled out a stethoscope, positioned it in his ears and laid it on Tony's chest. The next few exchanges between Chen and the doctor were heated, but it appeared Ducky's plea worked, and the doctor won. Chen sauntered towards the elevators as the dark haired Chinese doctor quickly pulled the needle out of Tony's arm and handed it to his colleague. Still applying pressure, he taped down the cotton ball and bent Tony's arm, laying it over his abdomen. It didn't stay. He gently laid it at his side and checked his patient's eyes. From the elevators, a terse order was shouted, and the doctor dropped the tape he was holding and scurried away. The four men, along with the brief case full of Tony's blood, as well as all the cords to the telephones, disappeared.

"McGee!" Gibbs ordered, "Get us out of this!"

"I'm working on it, Boss. It's like an ancient Chinese puzzle that I used to work in college called a Gordian puzzle—"

"McGEE!" Ziva, Gibbs, and Abby shouted.

"Okay! Ziva, duck under here and Director Shepard…" It took several tries, but he was able to get Ducky out from the middle and over to Tony.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked.

"Weak. His heart is working overtime."

"What can you do for him?"

"He needs a transfusion."

"What's his blood type?" Gibbs asked.

"A Positive."

"Anybody have that?"

Shrugging, Ducky asked, "Can someone reach a pair of scissors?" While waiting, he unbuckled Tony's belt and unbuttoned his slacks.

Abby pulled a pair out of a desk drawer and passed it via Jenny.

Ducky cut the elastic band of Tony's underwear. Quickly and methodically, he ran his hand just under the elastic on Tony's hips. Then he pulled off Tony's shoes and socks. "Nothing should interfere with his circulation," he explained.

"He's so cold," Abby commented as she laid her hand on Tony's arm.

Gibbs looked at Tim and barked, "Get us out of this!"

"I'm working on it, Boss. They cheated when they cuffed Director Shepard to Dr. Mallard. In order for us to untangle, they would have had to leave one arm free."

Gibbs glared at McGee.

"—But that just means we need to find a key."

"Ya think?"

Ducky checked Tony's eyes again and added gravely, "If we don't get this boy to a hospital, and soon, he's not going to be needing one."

Ziva covered Tony's chest with his suit jacket and looked around for something to use as a pillow. She eventually balled up his white shirt and gently slid it under his head.

"I have type O blood," Gibbs said.

Ducky looked up, his hopeful expression was fleeting as he knew what Gibbs didn't. "Jethro, that might have worked but I don't have the equipment to enact a blood transfusion."

"Damnit, McGee! Get us out of this knot or get us to a phone!"

"Wait!" Jenny said, "Can't we pick these locks?"

"They took our cases," Ziva informed her.

"Doesn't anyone have an extra set?"

"Tony might," McGee said, remembering a late night conversation they'd once had. "Check underneath his desk drawer."

Within seconds, Gibbs found what he was looking for. After freeing himself, he passed the picks to Ducky, who just held them up. "I have to confess that I'm not that well versed in the use of these tools."

Ziva took them and methodically turned and twisted until he was free. Ducky immediately turned his full attention to his patient. "Get something under his feet, and then let's roll him outside and into the warm air."

"I'll call 911," Abby said.

Gibbs pushed the gurney towards the elevators, stealing quick glances down at his senior field agent. How many times could DiNozzo recover from near death? Ziva guided the gurney into the lift and pressed "L". Ducky pressed his fingers against the veins in Tony's wrists. His expression said it all. Ziva looked anxiously from Ducky to Gibbs to Tony and then back to Gibbs. He was worried and she didn't like to see him this way. It seemed like the elevator ride was taking forever, but the doors finally opened into the lobby.

"Agent Gibbs, Dr. Mallard," the security guard said, perplexed at the autopsy table being wheeled quickly by until he recognized the patient. "Agent DiNozz—?"

"Call the police on those Chinese men who just left. Don't let them leave the country!"

In the hot humid August night, DiNozzo's body still felt cold. Ziva rubbed his arms and held his hand. Leaning down, she whispered, "Tony? You are going to be fine. Just hold on until we can get you some help." She looked at Ducky for some encouragement and the doctor offered a reassuring smile, but he cut it off too soon, negating its intended effect. She went back to rubbing Tony's arms.

Gibbs hailed the ambulance and watched with controlled anger as they transferred DiNozzo from the cold steel autopsy table to the stretcher, and then loaded him into the back along with Ducky. Gibbs closed the doors and pounded it three times and watched them drive away, sirens blaring. "Go to the hospital, Ziva, keep me posted."

She furrowed her brow, and wondered briefly why he wasn't going, but there was no arguing with his tone. Besides, she could probably guess the reason. She just hoped that he wouldn't start an international incident when he caught up with them.

It was the second set of double doors that she tried to pass through where a nurse put up her hands and stopped her from entering, saying, "Miss, you can't come in here."

"But I am an NCIS agent," Ziva countered, hoping the little lie would produce results. Unfortunately, it didn't. The nurse was accustomed to such and simply replied, "Good, you can guard the door and make sure no one comes in. I'll keep you updated on the other agent's condition." And she disappeared.

Ziva contented herself with milling around the small waiting room, stooping once to thumb through a stack of magazines on a table. Nothing of interest caught her attention, but she wasn't half reading the headlines. Her mind was with her partner. He had been so cold and pale. Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long before the lobby was full of familiar faces. Abby walked right up to her and asked, "How is he?"

"They have not updated me yet."

McGee looked around and furrowed his brow, "Where's Gibbs?"

"He did not come with us," Ziva replied, studying their faces.

Jenny slowly asked, "He didn't? Where did he go?"

Ziva shrugged, "He did not say."

"What do you mean, 'He did not say'?"

"He did not tell me where he was going. But if you ask me, I would say he was going after those men."

Jenny lowered her head and narrowed her eyes. It was easy to see the anger sweep over her. She turned on her heels and left the waiting room. McGee, Abby and Ziva exchanged silent looks. It was going to be a long night.

Tony could hear voices but they were too far off in the distance to make any sense. He was finally warm, but the pounding in his head negated any comfort he may have been feeling, and sleeping, if that's what he was doing, was damn near impossible. The voices sounded familiar, especially the female's. Ziva. His lids were almost too heavy to lift, but when they finally opened, he found himself staring up at a white ceiling and a dim fluorescent light.

"How are you feeling?"

It took him a minute to register that the question must be directed towards him. "That depends," he heard himself answer. "Am I still alive?"

"Yes. And contrary to what you may think, you will probably stay that way."

"My head…." he closed his eyes in the hopes that the pounding would subside.

He heard Abby's voice, "Your headache is due to a lack of blood supply to your brain and the over exertion of your heart to produce more. And being bounced off Croghan's car didn't help."

Ducky elaborated, "The blood supply to your brain had been all but diminished. That depravation caused a shortage of oxygen to circulate…"

He heard the explanation, but he most decidedly thought it would be easier to ask what had happened to him than to try to remember. Somehow he miscalculated. "Where am I?"

"The hospital."

"Why?"

"To get a blood transfusion. Do you remember anything?"

Tony lolled his head away from the words. It was coming back to him: the guns aimed at him, the translator's brains being blown out, the cold autopsy table, the vials of blood... The bile in his stomach clenched at the memories, but there was something else that had happened that was important but his brain was too much in a fog to parse it out. He went over the events again forcing his mind to concentrate until that 'something else' came into focus. And then it hit him with the same impact of Croghan's Escalade: his blood was going to be used to kill millions of people!

"The plague!" he blurted, exhausting his breath. "Did they use my blood… to kill those people? Did they get away? Did they—"

"Take it easy, Tony," Ducky urged, pressing on his shoulder and gently backing him down.

"Don't move around so much," Ziva said, laying her hand on his chest. "You'll just make yourself sick if you do."

"Ziva, I remember they were going to use my blood to infect a lot of people. Did they do it?"

Abby was next to him and rubbing his arm, "Tony, you should rest. Your body is still trying to manufacture blood, even though you've already received a sizeable amount, you need to rest—"

"I don't want to rest!" he lashed back, flinching at the throbbing pain in his head.

"Anthony!" Ducky said, knowing full well what over exertion could do to a man in Tony's condition. "We'll answer your questions in due time, but as your physician and as your friend, I'm ordering you to cease with the questions and rest. If you can't do that, you leave us with no other choice but to have you sedated."

Tony laid back and stared up at the ceiling, remembering every blessed detail of the ordeal. Millions of people were going to be killed, and he was the one supplying the bullets. He became vaguely aware of the people in the room with him. Even more than the threat of sedation, the pounding behind his eyes and across his head prevented him from continuing his protests. The pain wouldn't subside, nor would the thoughts that he was going to be the cause of millions of deaths; no matter how many times he shook his head or how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, the thoughts wouldn't leave him. The only comfort was knowing his boss was not exactly a man who would let something like this come to fruition.

Soon the room became very quiet, and as he relaxed, so too did the intense throbbing. Maybe it wasn't so much his disposition as it was the medication. It didn't matter if they pumped him full of drugs or not, he just wanted to sleep. Maybe forever.

Tony could feel himself being pulled out of a deep slumber. He didn't want to go, but he didn't feel like he had that much control over it. The place he had been was dark, and quiet, and free from pain and evil, and he liked it there, but something was forcing him to towards consciousness and as much as he didn't want to go, it just happened that it was the only place he could go.

He didn't have to open his eyes to sense the sterility of the room, nor did he have to open them to know someone was in there with him. It wasn't someone to run from, though. He felt comfortable in a guarded way. He lifted his eyelids, wondering who he was going to see.

It took forever for the person to come into focus. The room was very dark and he could only make out a silhouette, but that's all he needed.

"How'ya feeling?" Gibbs asked.

"Like crap."

"Sounds about right."

Tony felt the corners of his mouth turn up, but only until he remembered why he was lying in a hospital bed. Gibbs slid his chair over to his bedside. "Tony, you don't have anything to worry about. They never left the country."

"But… how?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked around. "Seems like there was a mechanical problem with the plane."

Tony knew not to ask, besides, he could read between the lines. He pushed his head back into the pillow trying to find a comfortable spot. He was disappointed to see he was still connected to an IV, but glad that his head had stopped pounding and was now down to a dull ache. All in all, he was beginning to feel like normal, but there was one question he still had. He cleared his throat and asked, "Will they come back for me?"

Gibbs shook his head, "Doubtful. Director Shepard has filed a formal complaint with SECNAV. Of course the government of China is denying any involvement, but they have to say that." Tony looked to be lost in thought and Gibbs studied him awhile staring up at the ceiling. In the darkened room, he could tell the color had returned to his face, and a light squeeze of his arm had told him that his body temperature had returned to normal too. Noticing his eyes had closed, he said, "Take it easy, Tony."

Outside the room, Gibbs leaned against the wall, furrowing his brow, and thankful Ducky wasn't around to analyze him. What he knew to be true was not something he wanted to think about, much less share with anybody. The Chinese people are a tenacious bred. They take what they want and they don't take too kindly to their plans mysteriously exploding and their highly trained operatives being blown to bits. They'd be back for Tony. It may not be this year, but they'd be back. And that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was knowing that once Tony recovered, he'd come to the exact same conclusion. He would research until he discovered the secret organization known as The Takers, and then he'd know.

Gibbs looked up at the ceiling, wrapping his head around this latest development. The only thing he could do to keep Tony safe was to monitor the Chinese. That's okay, it wasn't the first time he'd had to keep tabs on someone. And if he was training his team the way he thought he was training them, they would already have started the reconnaissance. That was the first thought all day that made him feel better. Not great, but better. He pushed off the wall and headed back to the office.

~Fini

**Hope you enjoyed this. I have 12 stories I'm working on right now but RL is kicking in and keeping me from taking the time to post. Any reviews (both positive and negative) are always welcome, and it helps the writing muse. ~Jasmine**


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